


Assassin's Creed: Fallen

by 月氣 (TheUmbraphage)



Category: Assassin's Creed - All Media Types
Genre: 1860-1900s, 8 years of it specifically :), Adult Clara O'Dea, BAMF Clara O'Dea, Backstory Intensive, Culture Shock, F/F, Fluff and Angst, Gilded Age, Gun-Fu, Imperialism, Kinda, Labor Unions, Layla is a lesbian disaster, M/M, Mixed Martial Arts, Multi, Politics, Really self-indulgent historical fiction, Second Opium War, Slow Burn, Teacher-Student Relationship, The Author is Salty, The wild west was gay AF, Western Occupation of China, Wild West, and 100 AC: Syndicate references, assassinating imperialists and kkk members hell yeah, did I mention the Wild West was gay, eat the rich, so period-typical homophobia just isn't a thing depending on the region
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-14
Updated: 2020-04-29
Packaged: 2021-03-01 22:35:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 16,216
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23654707
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheUmbraphage/pseuds/%E6%9C%88%E6%B0%A3
Summary: After their loss in Atlantis, Layla embarks on her shaky path to finish the Misthios' work: finding and destroying the Pieces of Eden. Her first stop? Hong Kong, to search the ancestral memories of the prominent Chu family set in the chaos of the Qing Dynasty's fall and the lawless western American plains.--In other words, my interpretation of how an AC: Wild West game should be done, addressing skepticism about the setting.
Relationships: Layla Hassan & Kiyoshi Takakura, Layla Hassan/Rebecca Crane, OC/OC, Past Layla Hassan/Deanna Geary, Wong Baak-tin/Celio de Las Palmas, mentioned Jacob Frye/Ned Wynert
Comments: 10
Kudos: 3





	1. Introduction: 4 December 1936

_ December 4th, 1936 _

Rain came down like shards of ice on the hillside Buddhist cemetery, where a few lone figures stood under a pair of black umbrellas. A middle-aged woman, donned in a plain navy blue qipao beneath her coat, bent at her knee to set a bouquet of white chrysanthemum on the tombstone, brushing her fingers across the cool surface with a saddened smile.

" _ A De, _ 1 we will miss you…" After her quiet murmur, there was not much to be said. Time was running out.

The woman stood again, back to her husband and daughter's side as she reached to squeeze the younger woman's shoulder. To an outsider's eye, they were a simple family gathered for a simple, small funeral; the father was dressed in a cheap Western suit and the daughter in black pants and a blouse. However, another man holding a similar umbrella stood near them, wearing a tan, felt fedora and a black suit, his dark skin and greying curly hair obviously foreign.

The man's face was aged, carved with both gravity and happiness alike. He was pushing seventy-three, but his poise was one of strength and grace as it was his turn to kneel at the grave. Setting a bouquet of white lilies down, he traced his finger over the stone's engraving.

_ 黃百天. Wong Baak-tin, 20 January 1856-15 November 1936. _

"Requiescat in pace,  _ shifu _ 2 ," he whispered. His touch lingered on the tombstone, almost regretful before he stood, turning to face the family. They all nodded to each other, in quiet understanding.

"Celio- _ suk _ 3 ," the older woman spoke, "what is on your mind?"

The man looked back to the tombstone, nostalgia in his eyes. "Your father was born in Guangdong, where many of our own had been exiled to away from Beijing during  _ Cixi Taihou's _ reign. And now, he is buried in Hong Kong, where we have been forced to move again."

He paused, remembering something deep, something from a great many years ago, one which he had nearly forgotten. He reached under the collar of his shirt, caring not for the mess he left of his impeccable silk tie, and tugged a silver chain loose from his neck. "Cheung Fa, I think it's my time to part with this."

He held it out for her, an offering. Jade, set in blue mosaic and gold, looked dim in the overcast light, but one look at the ancient pendant could tell what it was worth.

" _ A Suk _ , I can't…"

He chuckled, "If you're worried about breaking it like you did with the antiques at our old home, then A Yen4 can keep it. She's certainly less clumsy than you were at her age."

Her daughter coughed in the back, covering her mouth.

Somewhat embarrassed but glad for the lift in spirits, she replied, "Alright… Then I will." The woman accepted the necklace, careful as she weighed it in her hand.

"My abuela gave this to me, passed down from countless generations. I won't lie, I don't know very much about its origins, but… According to her, it is a key to something dangerous. It is our duty to protect it from Templar hands, be it from Mao Zedong or from the imperialists."

He turned, facing the fog-covered city that the hilltop overlooked. If he examined the scenery more closely, he could spot yellow robes of the monks dotting the temple at the bottom of the hill, and cars in the distant streets. "But even though I have passed my duty on to you, sometimes we must put our differences aside. While protecting the key, keep it hidden, but remember greater enemies lie in wake to destroy both of us."

"Japanese forces are coming closer5," she determined.

He nodded. "Stay your blade from the flesh of the innocent. If we commit to the battle between order and chaos, we are responsible for every life lost.

"Nothing is true; everything is permitted. The Templars and the Rite have their own creed, but we both share the common goal of defending China. It is possible to form an alliance for this time."

"What will you have us do?"

"General Chiang Kai-sek will be convening in Beijing to discuss a temporary peace from the civil war," he said. "Follow him, and let's see if we can reason with the Rite."

"What about you?"

He smiled, taking off his hat before he started to walk ahead, back to the stone stairs leading down the hill as the trio watched his retreating form disappear into the foggy rain. "Me? Old Celio has already seen many things. It's about time I should rest awhile."

* * *

_Note: Most Chinese words are written based on Cantonese romanization, as it is the main spoken dialect here. If the word is similar enough to Mandarin, then pinyin will be used._

_1 - "A De" is a diminutive term for father, falling out of use in the early 20th century._

_2 - "Shifu" means master, teacher, or mentor. Exclusively used for trades and specialties such as martial arts, or in this case, assassinhood. A modern term for school teachers is laoshi._

_3 - "Suk" means younger paternal uncle. It is not always used to refer to blood-related family._

_4 - "A" is simply a diminutive used by close friends and family._

_5 - Less than 1 year from now, the Second Sino-Japanese War will move in full motion when Mao Zedong and Chiang Kai-sek agree to a cease fire in the Chinese Civil War to defend against Japanese invasion. This resulted in severe losses as Manchuria was taken, the Rape of Nanking happened, and Unit 731 was created for human experimentation._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I haven't touched fanfic in almost a year (sorry about the massive delays in my other fics!) between GMing and working, but after getting back into AC, I've decided to try my hand at writing the Wild West setting. I can't promise a solid update schedule since I write when I have time and inspiration hits, but I'm going to try to keep a chapter ahead so I can improve at editing my work.
> 
> Common complaints about the setting is that it is too American- and Euro-centric, there are too many guns, and there wasn't enough going on politically, but you know what? The Old West spanned a good half of the 19th century. A lot of things were going on: the Gold Rush, railroads, slavery, the Civil War, government laissez-faire adding fuel to corruption, the KKK being bitches, and American involvement in the Second Opium War, leading to the slow downfall of the Qing dynasty.
> 
> Civil War has been spoken to death about in discussions, so I'll instead explore the post Civil War and post Opium Wars era in the golden era of infamous outlaws.


	2. Layla: 2 January 2019

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Layla can't catch a break.

_ January 2nd, 2019 _

"Layla… Layla! Wake up."

An annoyed voice snapped her from a plane of darkness and calm and delicious street food she couldn't wait to try when the plane landed. Removing the magazine she had used as a temporary mask to block the light, Layla blinked her bleary eyes to regain her consciousness, barely registering the familiar face staring unimpressed at her. "Wha- Huh?"

"You're drooling." Layla could only flush red in embarrassment as she hastily wiped her chin with her sleeve as Kiyoshi already began to stand, pulling their carry-on bags from above. The man was dressed as casually as can be, with a green long sleeve and a light coat for the cold to cover his sprawling tattoos; even in Hong Kong they would be unsightly and draw suspicion.

"Finally here, huh…" Layla commented to herself before stretching, wincing at the pain in her neck. "Ouch…"

"Slept wrong?" Kiyoshi seemed amused. "There were pillows for a reason for business class…"

"I know, I know, I wasn't even paying attention when I fell asleep," she sighed, cursing her inattentiveness. She stood, taking her backpack as she filed behind Kiyoshi to trail out of the Cathay airline plane into the bustling international airport.

As they walked to the arrival station to pick up their luggage, Kiyoshi spoke, lowering his voice, "Miles is already waiting at the manor. One of our associates here will be picking us up."

"A manor?" Layla raised an eyebrow. "Well, that's a change."

"From the musty loft?" he huffed, the corner of his lips twitching upwards slightly. "That, it is. The Chu residence is one of the biggest, taking up a hill of its own on the outskirts of the island."

She wondered, "You know the Chu family?"

"Not personally," he responded, finding their luggage on the conveyor belt. "My leader does, though. Our… Trading business has had quite a history with theirs for much of the 20th century."

"Is that so?" Layla smothered a smile, as Kiyoshi gave her a withering look. Okay, it wasn't funny, but she couldn't help the chuckle that threatened to burst at how the other awkwardly worded his answers in public. A trading business, alright: the Yakuza and the Triads had their own trades.

Waiting at the Cathay arrival area in the massive parking garage was a sleek black car, freshly washed and windows darkly tinted. Layla could not see inside of the car— _ Jesus, is that really a Rolls Royce? _ —but the fancy chauffeur standing beside it was enough to underscore how rich their "associate" was.

"Good morning!" the chauffeur greeted them in English. "I hope you had a good flight?"

"As good as can be, sir," Kiyoshi replied, his tone polite. The chauffeur took their luggage and placed them in the spacious trunk of the car, Layla stuttering an "uh, thanks?", before he opened the car door for them.

Kiyoshi nodded for Layla to climb in first before doing so himself, shutting the door.

"Layla Hassan, Kiyoshi Takakura, it's a pleasure to finally meet you two."

A faintly accented voice greeted them, seated in the far right. A woman in her early thirties sat cross-legged, hands clasped in her lap. She carried an intimidating air about her, and Layla doubted it was just because of her slick bobbed hair and form-fitting pantsuit woven with jet black fine wool.

If she knew their names already, Layla did not want to look stupid not knowing hers. "It's nice to meet you too…"

The car began moving.

A beat.

_ Damn it, Kiyoshi, work with me here... _

When he did not immediately jump to her rescue, she stepped harshly on his foot. Biting back a curse, he glared at her before smoothly greeting the woman, "It's a pleasure, Miss Chu Min."

Min smiled, unexpectedly coy. Layla gulped, swallowing the slight panic when she shot her a knowing look before looking back to Kiyoshi. "How is Mochizuki-baba? It has been awhile."

"She is doing well. How is your father?"

"He is well, but age is taking a toll on him, I'm afraid…"

Kiyoshi grew solemn at that. "I wish him well."

"Thank you; he needs it." Min said, her smile hollowing.

_ "Not personally," huh… _ Layla thought to herself as she listened. Quickly, she was startled when Min turned her attention back to her.

"So, Miss Hassan, I hear a lot of remarkable reviews about your work with the Animus," Min hummed. Before Layla could stumble with her words again under her piercing gaze, she continued, "I would love to see your work in person, especially with how well you handle the Bleeding Effect. Many have been driven into insanity before you, after all."

"W-well, I've grown used to it -"

"That is precisely we need you for our project. I've heard a bit about what happened with the Staff, my condolences, but we may have clues for you to find the other Pieces of Eden to destroy them."

Her words alerted both Layla and Kiyoshi, drawing their undivided attention. Layla probed, waiting for her to elaborate as she leaned forward in her seat, "Clues?"

"My brother has been doing some research through the Animus, but he is on temporary medical leave because he is often rejected by the system. He cannot handle long exposure, so we have been in search of someone who may be able to access our ancestral memories," Min replied, unhappy to admit her situation. She leaned her elbow against the door, looking out at the scenery as the urban cityscape began to fade away into trees and rocky hills, light dappling into the car through the leaves of overhanging branches. "Before the last time he was forcefully ejected, he did discover a 'key,' one we suspect may lead to the next step in your journey."

"A key…" Layla's eyebrows furrowed in thought. A few years back, she remembered listening to her Mentor recount the last mission Desmond Miles completed and the popular Kenway line that Abstergo funneled much of its funding into. "Did your brother discover anything more about it, other than it being a key to something?"

Min thought for a moment before she reached into the pocket of her suit jacket, pulling out a sheet of paper to show Layla. When she leaned closer to examine it, her eyes widened.

Layla commented, her voice full of wonder as her eyes practically sparkled, "That looks like it's Aztec in origin! Look, Kiyoshi!"

She pointed at the sketch of the expensive-looking pendant in a fierce motion, but the dark-haired man's response was rather lacking in comparison to her. He replied, "I'm not as educated in Aztec history, Layla…"

"It's jewellery! Do you know how hard it is to come by authentic jewellery from the Aztec Empire? The conquistadors melted down almost all of it, the fuckers, so this is really rare! And even rarer is that this is some kind of Isu technology? Imagine that!" she raved where she sat, Kiyoshi leaning as far away from her as he could to avoid her buzzing excitement.

Min nodded approvingly. "Indeed, it is rare. It is actually a family heirloom of ours, however it has been compromised…"

Layla gasped, horrified as her mind began to race. It wouldn't be her first deadly tango with Abstergo, given she had to face off the Sigma Team a little over two years ago, but it was a worrisome prospect that she would have to race against the Templars for the Pieces of Eden.

"No, no, my sources say it is not in Templar hands, and even if it was, they have no idea what power it holds," Min clarified. Layla relaxed.  _ Thank god. _ "We're in the process of recovering it, but it will take another week or so. I have reason to believe it still has remnants of DNA from one named Celio de las Palmas, which once we sequence and calibrate it, should cover the other half of your first clue."

"Oh, got it, that would help - wait, am I going right into the Animus once we get there?"

"Yes," Min said with a cheerful smirk.

Layla slumped in her seat. Dammit, she wasn't going get a vacation out of this trip, was she?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I haven't touched a single AC comic or novel in my life but at that same time I'm not very happy with how little the games develop the modern cast, so I'm honestly winging it and I hope you like my portrayal of them! I always thought Layla and Kiyoshi could be an interesting contrast if they worked more closely with each other, so this chapter was enjoyable to write.


	3. Wong Baak-tin: 13 October 1860

_October 13th, 1860. Outside Nanchang, Jiangxi Province in the valleys of the Jiuling Mountains._

Thunder rolled close, matching the growing anxiety that threatened to burst from her chest.

Luo Qiulian paced in the room of her family's residence in the early morning dressed plainly but prepared: the fabric of her pants had been tied from her ankles to her knees, bound in a string of leather, and for the day, she opted for a shorter, black changpao1 that fell above the knee.

If she was right about the foreboding feeling in her gut, this day will be her last.

" _Nianqin_ ?" A sleepy voice shattered her focus, and she stopped in mid-step to turn to the small figure who sat up from under the blankets on their shared bed. She closed the distance in a few quick paces, kneeling beside the bed.2

"Litian, can't sleep?" she asked in a hushed voice, stroking the child's silken black hair that had been a bit mussed from his tossing and turning. He rubbed at his bleary eyes before looking at her in question.

"The thunder's scary…" Litian mumbled. Luo Qiulian smiled before she pulled her son close for a hug.

"Don't worry, your _niangqin_ is here… And your _bak-bak_ will be here soon." Her grip on Litian was tight, the only thing revealing the inner troubles that swirled like the tumultuous storm building outside.3

Litian asked, "What's Wong- _bak-bak_ like?"

She let out a small laugh, recalling all her memories. "He is strong. Honorable, loyal. He helps the innocent as a physician."

"Hon...ora…?" he tried to repeat, stumbling over the word.

"Honorable," she said more slowly, encouraging him. "It means when someone stands up for what is right."

"Are you coming with us?"

She froze. The dreaded question. Qiulian pulled away to hold her son's hand, leaning her forehead against his much smaller one. She swallowed down her tears. The boy was only four years old, for the sky's sake…

She phrased, careful, "I'm going to try to meet you on the way to the village. I will do my best, if not, I will see you again later."

Litian nodded. "Mm! I believe in you, _niangqin_! You are really strong!"

She laughed again, her heart filling with temporary joy. After she quieted down, Qiulian spoke, serious, "Litian, I want you to remember our family name. You were born as Luo Litian, and my birth name is Luo Qiulian." She lightly tugged on the boy's hand so it was facing up, using her finger to trace his name into his palm, _羅理天_. "Your middle name means 'reason,' and your first means 'sky.' Our last name, Luo, has existed for thousands of years. Do you remember Qin Shi Huang?"

"The stupid worm emperor!"4

She frowned, startled by the insult. She asked, voice stern, "Where did you learn that?"

"Um… I heard one of the neighbor kids say that…" Litian admitted sheepishly.

Qiulian sighed, exasperated. "Don't call people that. It is rude."

"Sorry…"

She continued, "Our family name came even before his time."

"Wah, that long?"

"Yes. That's why I want you to remember it. For centuries, our family aided in the rise and fall of dynasties, but your _gong-gong_ and his father chose a different path of honor… but the people they worked for are _huai-ren_ ."5

Litian eyes widened, fearful. "They worked for bad people?"

" _Shi_ . And when I was younger, I followed in your _gong-gong_ 's footsteps because I didn't know what they did was bad." Qiulian got up to sit down beside him, interrupting herself, "Come here, let me braid your hair…"

Litian's hair was still thin from being so young, and the length wasn't very long, only reaching his upper back. As she began to section off his hair to work it into a Qing queue, she continued, "I made a mistake, but I am working to fix what I did. I wasn't home often this past year because I fought to defend our nation and our honor, but those bad people chose the other side of the war. This is why we need to move south to Guangdong, because those bad people don't like what I did."6

"Will they follow us?" His voice was nervous, sending a sharp twinge through her chest.

"No." Her voice was sharper than intended. Feeling her son flinch slightly, she softened her tone, "They won't come after us. I will make sure of that. They are coming later today, which is why I'm staying behind to talk to them."

He pouted. "Can't you just hit them and they'll go away?"

Qiulian was speechless. Fighting them was a given, but his question caught her off guard. Fumbling for a moment as she finished braiding his queue, she finally replied, "Violence isn't always the answer, Litian."

"Peace and order are the path in the light…" Litian recited, quiet.

"And disorder must come to a rest," she finished, patting his head. "Litian, I named you because I hope you will be able to maintain balance, in yourself and in your surroundings. You must remember this, alright?"

He nodded, though more slowly as he struggled to understand.

"You must uphold your path of honor, even after you change your name." She gripped his shoulder, touch gentle but firm.

"I don't want to change my name…" he mumbled.

"Litian." Her voice left no room for argument. "From today on, you will be Wong Baak-tin, born in Guangdong. Your father will be Wong Kei-ying, and your older brother, Wong Fei-hung. I want you to remember the name you were born with, but do not tell anyone about your true heritage."

"I don't understand…" Tears filled his eyes. Her heart sank, but she had to follow through with this if she wanted him safe.

Qiulian wiped at the tears that spilled over from his eyes with her sleeve, hugging him again. "You will understand later, Litian. I left you a book in your bag, which your _bak-bak_ will teach you how to read."

After a moment of calming down, he finally nodded, hesitant against her shoulder. She pulled away to give him a reassuring smile. "Stay strong, Litian."

A knock at the door would snap the mother and son back to reality. Qiulian gestured for Litian to stay put, standing quietly as she reached for the spear leaning against the wall, just in case, and walking to answer the door. She relaxed upon seeing a familiar face of a taller man wearing his black hair half-shaved and in the Qing queue.

Where Qiulian was still fairly young, being barely thirty years old, Wong Kei-ying had a little over a decade on her, and the wrinkles at the corner of his eyes were to show for it. For someone from the countryside village he came from, Kei-ying could be considered attractive (if Qiulian squinted; she supposed the larger, deeper set eyes that emphasized his southern origins were a refresher from the northern faces she commonly saw).

"Master Wong," she greeted him with a short bow, smoothly transitioning dialects from her northern one to his. As a master of Hung Ga martial arts who gained a title as one of the Ten Tigers of Guangdong, he was many li ahead of her in skill.7

"Master Luo," he responded. He glanced around, weary. "I spotted the official's men approaching on the road, we must make haste."

Her lips thinned. "That was fast… Litian, come here."

The boy jumped down from the bed, uncertain before approaching. He reached to hold fast to his mother's pant leg, hiding half of his face behind her thigh as he looked up at Wong Kei-ying.

The man knelt down to be eye level with Litian, relaxed so he would be a more comforting presence. He smiled at him. "Hello, Luo Litian."

Litian did not respond at first, to which Qiulian patted his head. "Litian, say hello to your uncle." Another moment passed before the boy said, his voice barely audible as he greeted in accented Cantonese, “Hello, Wong _-bak-bak_ ,” before he hid his face again. She sighed before looking back at Kei-ying. “We’re running out of time. Wong Kei-ying, your allegiances…”

The man donned in black stood again, sobering up as he met her stern, wary gaze. “I may have been trained by the Brotherhood, but I’ve long since retired from the work that came with it. I’m only a village physician now…”

“I realize that, but I also know that you are still an informant. Now that Litian will be joining your family, I want you to promise that he won’t ever be indoctrinated into your Brotherhood, not before he is able to make decisions of his own. With that said, I want him to disappear so the Rite will not track him…” Qiulian said, terse.

He started, “Luo Qiulian…”

“Promise me!”

Litian shuffled anxiously from behind her. Kei-ying relented, “It will be done. He will be raised away from my allies’ influence, and away from our enemies’ as well…”

Qiulian relaxed, nodding to him in thanks before she bent to lift a fabric bag from the floor to give to Kei-ying. “These are Litian’s belongings…” she said before she knelt down to look her son in the eye, holding his hand. “Litian, remember everything I told you this morning. Hold it close to your heart, and never let go.”

“Yes, _niangqin_ ,” the child affirmed, squeezing her hand, reluctant to let go. She pursed her lips, the moment dragging on for a painful eternity in her eyes. Qiulian could feel something crack in her chest as she pried her son’s hand away from hers. In that second, she couldn’t breathe. “ _Nianqin_?”

Shouts could be heard a distance away, from beyond the walls of the ancient Luo residence. Her guards no doubt stood in the approaching enemies’ way.

“Go!” Qiulian gritted out, the fear snapping her from her pained stupor. She picked Litian up in a single swift motion, passing him off to Kei-ying so her son can hold on to him from around his back.

Kei-ying’s expression was grim as he met her resigned eyes, understanding. “Luo Qiulian, we will remember you not as an enemy but an ally and as family.”

Sounds of her men dying and metal clashing drew nearer.

She nodded to him, gripping her spear tightly as she prepared to step outside toward the courtyard, where rain began to come down in sheets. “And I, you. Take care, Wong Kei-ying. And… take care of my son.”

“I will.” As the battle drew closer still, Kei-ying stepped away from the door to give Qiulian room. Their farewell was silent as Kei-ying took to the shadows, headed for the back of the household.

She could only turn away and swallow the lump in her chest, hearing her son’s cry of “ _Niangqin!_ ” fade quickly with the distance. At least her heart can rest now knowing her son will be safe, even if it was in the hands she had spent much of her life fighting against, however foolish she was. Qiulian squared her shoulders as finally the reinforced doorway into the courtyard broke open with a smashing and splintering of the heavy wood panel that locked it in place.

Soldiers flooded the courtyard, red-fringed douli atop their heads to keep rain from their faces and donned in the blue and black embroidered cotton denoting their royal military ranks, as they took formation. As they lined both sides of the courtyard, a single man in a similar douli with instead a long peacock feather sewn to the back of his hat trailed behind them with soldiers at either side. The silk brocade of his black uniform with blue and red dragon detailing underneath his cloak was enough to highlight his rank as a second grade imperial official, one who oversaw the entirety of the Jiangxi Province. He was young—and handsome, as many would consider him as—at most six years older than Qiulian, but his poise of nobility and power commanded the same attention as a first grade imperial official at least twenty years his senior would.8

Qiulian lifted her head as she stepped down from the porch into the courtyard, caring not as rain quickly soaked into her hair and clothes. A soldier was quick to attack her with a battle cry as he swung his dao at her torso. Just as quickly as he darted toward her, she deflected his blade with the tip of her spear before swinging it with a ruthless motion to knock him down.

Sending him sprawling to the rain-covered stone, she thrusted her spear through his chest, a gurgled sound muffled by the rain as he choked on blood and began to bleed out. With a few more twitches, he stilled.

As she yanked her spear from the body, she lowered herself in a horse stance, preparing herself as the other soldiers began to move to subdue her.

“Hold.” The imperial official’s voice was loud and commanding as he ordered his men to stop in their tracks. He slowly approached the center of the courtyard, nearing Qiulian but maintaining enough of a distance so she couldn’t kill him quickly like she did with the first soldier who dared to attack.

She straightened, meeting his cold gaze with her own steely one. “Official Chen Yixin.”

“Luo Qiulian, it is my greatest regret to be the one to enact your punishment today,” he spoke. Qiulian scoffed at the insincerity, but Yixin ignored her. He pulled a scroll from his sleeve, the gold encasing already speaking to her that he and his men were here under the emperor’s orders—or better said, the Dowager Empress’s orders. “The Dowager Empress wishes mercy on you, for all that your father, the first grade imperial official has done for this nation. If you surrender now and swear your loyalty to our Rite once again, you and your family’s life will be spared.”

“The Dowager Empress picks and chooses what values and traditions to continue as though they were dishes of food on the table,” Qiulian spat. “She led our defense, but only to our downfall because apparently our Rite and the needs of our nation, _our people_ , are merely pawns to that scumbag Starrick-”

“ _Silence_ ,” he hissed, rage spilling over his cold facade. A rogue wave crashing over a levee. “All Rites are equal, for we have the same goal: order across every land we can reach. Respect the other Grandmasters!”

“Hah! Like how you have respected my father?” she laughed cruelly. “It would take a blind man to not see how you put your greed above the Order, seeking that very same Grandmaster rank. You are a disgrace to the Templars, Chen Yixin! As for the Dowager Empress, I will not bow to that false Buddha9 either.”

The clenching of Yixin’s jaw revealed his murderous intent before he stilled his expression to one of detached calm. “This is… Unfortunate. _Taihou_ will mourn this loss. Under orders from the emperor, Luo Qiutian will be hereby sentenced to death,”

As the soldiers stepped forward, closer to Qiulian as they readied their swords, she prepared to defend.

“And the entire Luo family will be sentenced to death as well, nine generations across10. Guards, find and capture all the servants, and find her son.”

His words chilled her to her very bone, and she saw red. “You won’t find my son!”

“Oh, I will relish in killing him,” Yixin snarled. The soldiers stormed toward Qiulian with intent to overwhelm her, as others behind Yixin immediately charged inside the house in search to strike down the living.

_Clang!_ Qiulian blocked the first sword that thrusted toward her, immediately jumping high to avoid the next three swords that stabbed the space she occupied. Using the crossed swords as leverage, she twisted in the air and landed behind the four soldiers. With the precision of an expert general, she darted forward, stance low to the ground as she ran her spear through one of the soldiers and tossed him aside like a slaughtered pig.

She slashed her spear in an arc toward the other three, knocking them back before she spun to defend against more soldiers that attacked from behind. Where she was known as a quick and nimble fighter, one who was treasured by the Chinese Rite ever since she turned sixteen a little over fourteen years ago, Qiulian’s motions were frantic and overpowered from her desperation.

“Argh!” She gritted her teeth as she kicked one of the men aside, sending him crashing into two other soldiers. She launched herself over another wave of them, using the red painted wooden fence of the porch for leverage to gain extra height and avoid the blades that dangerously slashed too close for her liking. With a single motion, she speared another man through and threw him to the side to knock down others coming her way.

One by one, the soldiers dropped like flies, but even a tiger could not defend against a hive of wasps. Quickly, Qiulian could feel herself begin to tire, her muscles burning as she breathed heavily. Yixin was well-prepared, having brought a small army instead of the usual guard he brings when travelling.

Sharp pain bloomed from her stomach. When she looked down, time seemed to slow as she saw bloodied steel jutting out from her stomach, from where a soldier had snuck up behind her. Then, another blade stabbed through her, slightly above and to the left of the first one. This time, she could not hold back a strangled cry of pain.

Qiulian looked up. Like the shadow of a hawk that passes over its prey, Yixin was less than a meter away from her. She could only barely register the roaring of blood that crashed through her eardrums as the imperial official sneered at her.

Her next breath came out as a gurgle as the man ran her chest through with a dagger. The blade sank deep into her, all the way to the hilt, and she could feel Yixin twist it into her flesh, causing more damage. She coughed, the pain in her chest growing unbearable as the taste of metallic flooded her mouth. Still, she refused to admit defeat as she glared defiantly at Yixin. Blood trickled from the side of her mouth down to the chin, dripping to the ground.

Yixin pulled her close from around her waist as the two other soldiers removed their blades from her dying form, murmuring into her ear, “I will raze your home to the ground and I will take great joy in killing your treacherous father for raising a foolish daughter like you. _I_ will be the next advisor to the emperor.”

“Go… Die…” Qiulian gasped out with a hoarse voice before she grunted again as Yixin twisted the dagger again and let go of her. She fell to her knees, still unwilling, before the life faded from her righteous rage-filled eyes and she slumped to the ground face-first with a splash into the growing puddles. Red diluted with the rain, trailing to the drain.

Yixin hummed in displeasure, looking down at the blood that stained his clothes in distaste before he wiped his dagger clean with his handkerchief. “Good riddance.”

He turned when one of his men hurried to his side, bending at his knee with his head lowered. “My lord, we have rallied up all the servants for the execution at the capital.”

“Good, then let’s take our leave. Let us set fire to the residence…” Chen Yixin nodded in approval before he started to head back toward the gates.

“But, wait, my lord!” the soldier interrupted, anxious. Yixin narrowed his eyes, looking back down at him.

“What is it?”

His voice grew meek. “Luo Litian is nowhere to be found.”

Yixin’s eyes widened in shock before rage filled him again. Before it could boil over, he took in a sharp breath to keep himself from killing the soldier where he knelt. With an expression of ice, he looked to the gates that were still open, toward the misty, mountainous scenery the land overlooked. He hissed, “Find him. I do not care if we have to ravage every single _inch_ of this province, of this country! We cannot let someone whom that _demon_ has planted seeds of revolution run free!”

“Yes, my lord!”

The soldier was still kneeling, taking his time. Yixin snarled, “Now!” before he flung the front flap of his overrobes to the side, his motion harsh and a stark contrast from his usual collected composure, and stalked through the gates with a few of his guards scrambling after him. The storm behind his eyes promised far worse than the typhoon season, as he trained them on a singular purpose: destroy the last of the Luo family.

* * *

_1 - Changpao is a Manchu style of dress during the Qing dynasty._

_2 - "Nianqin" is the Mandarin, archaic term for mother. The Cantonese romanization is "Leung-chun."_

_3 - "Bak" refers to older uncle. Like "Suk," it doesn't always mean blood-related relative._

_4 - Qin Shi Huang is the first recorded emperor of China (not counting mythology with the Shang and Xia dynasties from 1500-700 BCE given written history had yet to be created then) who united 7 nations from the Warring States period shortly after the Spring and Autumn period. I kept the English translation of Litian's phrase to be understandable, but "stupid" and "worm" rhyme closely with "Qin" in Chinese._

_5 - "Gong" refers to maternal grandpa. "Huai-ren" literally means "bad people;" Cantonese romanization is "wai-yun."_

_6 - A queue is a long braid worn by all Manchu and Han Chinese as mandated by the Qing Dynasty. In the early Qing dynasty, Han Chinese were threatened with execution if they did not adopt the hairstyle, including the half-shaven head, but during this period, the rules have become more lax especially due to Western influences._

_7 - "Li" is a unit of measurement, comparable to a mile._

_8 - Traditionally, there have always been 9 ranks of imperial officials and two types (scholar and military), where the 1st grade is the highest and a direct advisor to the emperor or the head general of the nation's army, and the 9th grade usually acts as a mayor of a town or village, or a sheriff. By this time due to Emperor Kangxi's centralization of power centuries ago in the early Qing dynasty and his successors' inability to keep their shit together, corruption is even more rampant than it was before Kangxi tried fixing it._

_9 - Dowager Empress Cixi adopted the title "Buddha." Seriously._

_10 - Translation of 株九族, a punishment in which a whole family and their household are executed "nine generations in all directions." This includes your children, grand children, great grandchildren, uncles and aunts, cousins to the 9th degree and 9th removed, your servants, and your dog. ~~Dog rhymes with nine, gallows humor I know...~~ This punishment is reserved for the worst of crimes, in this case treason._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Me, posting this at 2 am and probably didn't edit all the way: this is a good idea
> 
> I hope you enjoyed this chapter! It's sad and gruesome, but have some history textbook notes! Also, if you're interested in checking out more stuff about this era, albeit slightly fictionalized because come on, it's Wong Fei-hung, do check out the _Once Upon a Time in China_ trilogy starring Jet Li. Amazing choreography that blows Mainland's new Matrix bullshit out of the water, and historically political accuracy!


	4. Wong Baak-tin: 25 January 1868

_ January 25th, 1868. Lingxi Village, Foshan City, Guangdong. _

Smoke filled the streets of the small village as a few firecrackers exploded outside the strip of small businesses, festive music to follow it. A crowd of observers amassed the dirt-covered street where patches of snow remained from the snowstorm earlier that week, wearing extra layers to combat the chilled air. New coats and changpao adorned everyone, good luck for the new year. Still, while they were new, they were made of simple cotton or linen; in a humble village like this, one would seldom find silk.

It was the first day of new year as the warm sun beat down to warm the icy cold of winter in midday. With the village's close proximity to the temple on the hill, everyone had stayed up hours past midnight the night before to light incense at the temple's altar. It was a race of who would reach the altar first to stick the incense into the ceramic pot of rice every year, as the first to do so would have their wishes granted.

Wong Baak-tin wasn't entirely sure if it was true, as all the village elders insist it was, but his family did not partake in it except for waiting at the back of the line. The twelve-year-old rubbed the remnants of tiredness from his eyes as he waited in the alley with the other performers to begin their dragon dance, the opening to the yearly performance. It was the simpler of the two common dances of the new year and therefore Baak-tin wasn't yet allowed to join the lion dance troupe—not to mention his age and height at a meager 5'0", not an inch more, made him a poor partner in a group of young men a head or more taller than him and four years his senior.

When his growth spurt had yet to come in the last few months, Baak-tin was on the verge of kowtowing at the altar to the bodhisattva of mercy, Guan Yin, herself (the Wongs were the furthest thing from religious, but he was desperate) to beg for a few more inches so he could follow more closely in his older brother's footsteps to join the lion dance and even help him with his martial arts school. And so the other village boys already taller than him would stop teasing him for being the "baby," but that was beside the point. How was he expected to uphold the Wong name with honor if he will remain tiny for the rest of his days?

Even if he was able to drop into a lower crouch stance with a straighter leg than most of the students at his brother's school (He absolutely was not being unfair, not at all, even though he's been training under his father from age five onwards in contrast to the students, who started in their teens or even adulthood), it was impossible to be taken seriously with his still-soft face and his height. Baak-tin moped where he sat in wait, wistfully watching the pairs of lion dancers practicing further down the alley. He might have been a little jealous as well, though it was something he refused to admit outwardly.

"Hey, Baak-tin." One of the dancers paused to walk over to him, dropping the green and white felt head after nodding to his partner to stop the routine. Baak-tin crossed his arms, stilling his face before he could pout: luck was not on his side today, as yet again his brother had caught on to his unease.

Wong Fei-hung was already a handsome young man with a stellar record for being only twenty years old, a season's away from twenty-one. The age difference between the two was a large one, but Baak-tin still related and looked up to him in many ways ever since he witnessed Fei-hung's true skill in person when he was six and his brother was barely fifteen—although, the context of the situation had gotten them both, especially the elder of the two, in trouble with their father and nearly in trouble with the law. Emphasis on "nearly," but Baak-tin would rather not dwell on embarrassing memories.

Where Baak-tin still trained under their father, albeit sworn away from needless violence like his brother had, Fei-hung already was considered a martial master in the area. Wong Kei-ying had remained a humble physician where his physical skill had been only viewed as secondary, where in contrast Fei-hung went against his original wishes four years ago to teach local vendors and farmers how to fight and defend. Three students had turned into ten, and nowadays several times a week Baak-tin could see a crowd of at least twenty-five disciples practicing with him on the sandy, if rocky, banks of the river that passed within a mile of the village.

It was a daunting task to reach places his brother has, but Baak-tin was determined. Even if it starts with something as simple as a lion dance.

"Baak-tin, you're zoning out again. Nervous?" His brother's voice jolted him from his thoughts. The furrow in Baak-tin's eyebrow disappeared as he shook his head.

" _ Da ge _ , no, just…"

Fei-hung chuckled, ruffling his hair. It was still in a queue as he wore it most days, still unshaven in contrast to the other Wong family member's hair, but in spite of how neat he had kept it, the motion was enough to jostle some strands out of place to brush against his temples. Baak-tin settled for glowering at his charismatic brother as the other said, "Don't worry about the lion dance. At this point you're going to be the grouchiest Wong and you're the youngest."

Baak-tin was exasperated. He wasn't grouchy! Just serious, and despite being nine years younger, he honestly thought that Fei-hung could use some more of seriousness instead of frequently pranking the government-hired guards (albeit sometimes he would turn a blind eye and not tell Kei-ying, as the guards spent more time trying to swindle the villagers instead of actually protecting them).

Fei-hung continued, not minding as his little brother swatted his hand away, "You'll make it next year, I'm sure of it. Besides, your mom's side of the family was tall…"

He had lowered his voice slightly when the topic shifted to Baak-tin's mother, and even though he was young, he could guess why Fei-hung remained secretive to this day. When he was first brought to the village, he was the talk of the town (albeit with less than one hundred people and just about everyone knew everyone's name) and it was even rumored that he was Wong Kei-ying's illegitimate son. Whispers of that sort had decreased over the years, as he was accepted into the community rather quickly, but sometimes a few of the older boys would still call him a bastard.

"Don't tease me about my height…" he whined as Fei-hung cackled. The young man stood again to peak outside the alley before announcing, "Looks like it's time! Don't trip on your way, Baak-tin!"

He stuck his tongue out at him.

"Hey, respect your elder!" Fei-hung stuck his tongue out back. For his age, his maturity was certainly lacking…

As soon as the trumpets, drums, and cymbals began to play, Baak-tin nodded to the other boys and girls in his age group before he stood alongside the rest of them. As the highest level dancer in the group, he was to take the lead with the colorful dragon's head, so with a breath to calm his nerves, he lifted the pole attached to it, aligning it in its starting position before he stepped out from the alley.

He began the progression at a light jog, the others matching his pace as they occasionally slowed through the streets to flourish the dragon in wave-like motions. Most of the others were grinning as they marched through the small village, but for the whole ten minutes of it, it was a boring affair to Baak-tin. Still, as boring as it was to be unable to combine much of his martial arts training with it, the smiles and cheers from the other villagers were bright enough to be infectious…

"Ah, that Wong Baak-tin really does look like he's constipated, huh?"

He frowned. He was close enough to one of the elderly villagers to overhear her not-so-quiet observation. The excited swell in his heart had frozen and shattered. He could cry at that moment, bemoaning to himself,  _ Am I really that serious like Fei-hung said...? _

He spent the rest of the progression brooding to himself, but no one would see any change to his statue-like, neutral expression. Baak-tin sighed in relief once they returned to the alley, finishing their dance.

Now he could just hide in the crowd while dwelling on his humiliation. He wasn't one to dwell in cowardice, but even the village elders seemed to agree with Fei-hung's comment about him being basically the grandfather of the family as only a twelve-year-old. What could he do except to accept this new title?

The lion dance was soon to begin. Baak-tin slunk into the crowd, choosing a spot near the back where he could stand on a couple of stacked crates so his view wouldn't be blocked by the other villagers' backs. Silently cursing his own height again, Baak-tin gave a quick glance-through of the crowd, searching for any familiar faces—namely, his father.

Wong Kei-ying had been reluctant, as he was every year, to join in on the festivities that began after midnight ("We should not have to waste efforts to race for blessings when it is something to be accrued with our own hard work," he had said long ago), but he hardly ever missed the day festivities.

A second sweep of Baak-tin's gaze garnered no success, and the boy let out a disappointed sigh. He was hoping he could listen to his father's usual comments and critiques about the dance. It was too bad-

Baak-tin nearly jumped out of his skin as a light thud of someone much taller than him landed on the crate right beside him. This time, the shock on his face was quite clear when he looked to the side to see his father's amused eyes staring down at him. He sputtered, " _ A De _ ? Why were you on the roof?"

"It's a good vantage point to observe anything and everything. I know I've told you to not climb to the roof, but it's getting to that time I should teach you a few more tricks…" Kei-ying replied, voice smooth. For someone who had climbed to the roof and jumped down from it, he didn't seem out of breath at all, but that wasn't Baak-tin's focus. The boy's eyes widened, excitement barely shown on his face at the mention of new lessons.

"Really? When?"

"After the new year's over."

He deflated. A whole two weeks… Well, it would make do; he didn't want his father to change his mind if he complained about how long the wait was. "Thank you,  _ A De… _ "

Kei-ying patted his head before brushing some of his stray strands from his face. "Your hair is messy again."

"It's not my fault this time…" He was quick to cast the blame elsewhere before he shifted under Kei-ying's disapproving glance, uncomfortable. "I promise."

"Fix it when we get home, alright?"

" _ Hai, A De… _ " Baak-tin often disliked how tight he needed to braid his queue for it to be clean and proper, but he needed to abide by his father's wishes if he didn't want to shave his head like the other two in his family. He'd rather deal with a slight headache than feeling air on one half of his head but not the other half.

The silence that fell between them for a moment was comfortable, as the boy spotted his father observing the crowd. Something seemed to trouble Kei-ying as the man's eyebrows furrowed when his gaze lingered on the outskirts of the street. Baak-tin, curious, followed his gaze to spot a handful of newcomers.

"Eh?  _ A De _ , why are  _ guai yun _ here?" 

Kei-ying pursed his lips slightly at Baak-tin's choice of words, but he didn't chastise him for referring to the newcomers as ghosts; most of the villagers refused to name them by where they came from, both because "ghost people" took less a breath than guessing Britain, France, or America and their pale skin was a common enough of a feature that even the least educated can come to that association. The boy grimaced, about to correct himself before his father replied, "Those Westerners aren't supposed to be here."

Baak-tin looked back to the small group: a middle-aged man with short blond hair was dressed finely in a tan Western-style suit with a silk tie—well, he didn't really know if the suit he wore was fine or not since it's rare enough seeing one pass by in a small village like this—as the foreigner stood beside a handful of guards, each carrying a shortsword at their hip and pistols that gleamed where the sunlight hit them.

"In fact, I don't believe the village leader invited them, especially after their request to buy the land was rejected…" Kei-ying's elaboration chilled the boy's spine as the man hopped down from the crate, intending to weave through to crowd toward them. Before Baak-tin could follow him, he said, "Stay with the crowd."

The boy crossed his arms, begrudgingly abiding by his father's orders before he brightened. Well, he didn't say he couldn't follow, so long as he lingered with the crowd… After Kei-ying was several meters away, Baak-tin jumped down from the crate as well and carefully followed, making use of his height and lithe body to stay low so he wouldn't be noticed.

The lion dance had already started, the cacophony of the music loud behind him, but there was enough distance from the sounds that he could hear the arguing that increased in decibel. He could make out a bit of the words, following the best he could with the limited English he had learned from Kei-ying as he pushed his boundaries a bit to duck down and hide behind another crate to get as close as he could without the foreigners and the couple of villagers noticing.

"I already put in my second request, Mr. Cheung, at double the price," he could hear the man spit at the village leader, who was growing increasingly irritated as he crossed his arms, wary and defensive.

"As I've said before, Mr. Jones, your request hasn't yet been processed by the provincial government nor has it arrived at my desk-"

"That is bullshit!" The blond sneered, jabbing his finger at the leader. The leader's eyes hardened as he lifted his chin, not letting the man's overwhelming presence crowd him. "You've already turned down my first proposition, even though It's enough money to rebuild your village elsewhere-"

"With what land?" he laughed, incredulous. "Any available land near us for us to rebuild on doesn't have fertile enough soil, and it will take us years to build new buildings when your demolition efforts for that manor of yours will take less than that."

"You are a greater fool than I imagined," the man hissed before Kei-ying stepped in.

"Gentlemen, please. Mr. Jones, there is a better time and place to meet; we are right in the middle of our new year celebration," Kei-ying spoke, voice calm. It didn't seem to calm Mr. Jones down very much, however.

"Hah! Excuse after excuse." Kei-ying and the leader bristled at his words, but were unable to retort when he continued his blasting, "Fine, then. Enjoy your festivities while you have it, as archaic as they are-"

The firecrackers went off again somewhere behind Baak-tin to mark the ending of the lion dance as the dancers began the second half of the progression to give luck to the local businesses, but as the crowd clapped and cheered, the newcomers stiffened.

"Mr. Jones, they are firing at us!"

"Then fire back, you dimwit!"

Time slowed as Kei-ying's eyes widened in horror, the physician stepped forward to stop the guards from raising their pistols. "Stop! Those are just-"

The first gunshots rang out. Screams of fear interrupted the festive cheer, everyone quickly scattering and ducking to avoid injury.

"...firecrackers." Kei-ying had frozen where he stood, the shock quickly replaced by rage as he turned to the guards.

Baak-tin turned around in horror as he saw three villagers fall, injured as they desperately clutched where they bled. It was Old Tang, who owned the wonton stand. Miss Chen, who helped her father with their tiny acupuncture clinic that stood right next to the Wong family's own clinic and home. And Idiot Mau, the boy only a year and a half older than him who had just been with him during the dragon dance.

He couldn't stop the scream that tore through his throat, seeing the other boy stare down at the hole in his chest, blood blooming fast as it soaked into the linen of his clothes, shocked and in pain as he fell to his knees, just trying to cling on. Baak-tin hurried over, ignoring the danger, to break the boy's fall the best he could with his smaller body and lowered him gently to the dusty ground where blood dripped quickly onto it, soaking it in red.

He didn't know what to say as Idiot Mau used his free hand to clasp Baak-tin's hand in his own, grip tight. Fear filled the boy's eyes as he stared up at his, tears beginning to flood over. He coughed, blood splattering his lips, "Tiny Wong, what's happening?"

Baak-tin gritted his teeth as he pried the other boy's hand from his, reaching to staunch the bleeding the best he could. "Idiot Mau, don't worry, just stay awake, please, my father will be here to heal you…"

There was silence. Baak-tin felt cold.

"Mau, please…" He couldn't stop the tears of shock from leaking, staring at the boy's glassy eyes. Why wasn't he breathing? It can't be!

Everything seemed to move like they were in water, blood rushing in his ears as he lay Mau down on the ground, the boy's hands lying limp at his sides. He was numb, staring as he watched Kei-ying shout at the guards. They didn't listen, shouting back, and Kei-ying was the first to make a move to grab one of the guard's wrists, twisting it to make the man drop the pistol.

Five other pistols trained themselves on Kei-ying instead. Baak-tin's heart seemed to slow as fear gripped his chest. He barely realized what he was doing until the next second, as he was screaming as he rushed forward to attack one of the guard's, not even caring for technique as he ducked down to bring his arms around their thighs and send their knees buckling.

"Wha- You little piece of shite-!" The guard stumbled to the ground, his pistol clattering to the ground. Surprised shouts could be heard; it meant Baak-tin's attempt to distract worked.

Pain burst from his head as a hand took his queue by the fist, yanking him back as a cry of pain escaped him. The boy clawed at the hand holding him, only for his ears to ring as pain exploded at his cheek, only registering that whoever grabbed him had punched him. He looked up to see angry green eyes glaring down at him—it was the blond man, Mr. Jones.

"Idiot child. You'll just be a reminder to this village that you all are less than dirt-" Baak-tin barely blinked when he saw blood spray from the man's throat, shock filling his eyes before life faded from him. It all happened too fast, as the boy barely registered seeing the silver blade retract from Mr. Jones's neck into a bracer.

"Little Wong, stay back and your father and I will take care of it," an unfamiliar voice spoke, letting the body fall to the ground with a thud as a warm arm pulled the boy away from the battle. Baak-tin stared at the tall man with a black hood pulled to obscure his youthful features, stupefied as he gave him a reassuring smile. Before he could ask him who he was, the mysterious man jumped back into the throes of battle.

Baak-tin watched, amazed as the two men fought back to back, Kei-ying making use of his hands and legs to send the remaining guards to the ground with powerful kicks and punches. In contrast the man was far deadlier, caring not for the blood he spilled as he used the knives hidden in his bracers and even lashed a rope dart out with the accuracy of a snake hunting its prey, wrapping a guard in a chokehold to send him crashing into another.

It was horrifying but beautiful to see the techniques used in such a way. The mysterious man used the momentum to pull the rope dart free, slicing the guard's artery in the same motion. As the boy watched the guard drop to the ground, his stupor was broken by a warm, firm hand grasping his bicep.

"Baak-tin! We need to get away." It was Fei-hung. The boy let himself be tugged away by his brother, managing to tear his eyes from the scene, toward the injured. "I need your help in carrying the injured to the clinic. 13th Aunt is already there, treating the others we've already brought."

Baak-tin didn't trust himself to speak, only nodding. Fei-hung was relieved, now that they were a distance away from the bloodshed, gripping his shoulder and offering a weak smile before he got to work, his little brother keeping up with him.

Half an hour later, the silence was deafening in the streets as the sounds of battle came to an end and no one dared to step out from where they had taken cover in their homes and stores. Cold wind was the only whisper as it brushed over the streets, where all of the newcomers lay dead where they had been left and every window had been shuttered close and every door locked up. Remnants of the firecrackers blew with the wind, but even the villagers were disquieted that even if they didn't sweep, it would not outweigh the bad luck that came with the attack.

In the Po Chi Lam, the Wong clinic was called, it was chaotic for the next several hours. Even as the sun had long set, time had passed in a blur for Baak-tin as he rushed between patients at his father, his brother, and the mysterious man's requests. Even 13th Aunt, being sixteen and working on getting into a medical school abroad in the next two years, had found herself running the same errands the youngest Wong did.

Baak-tin barely had time to wonder about the mysterious man, who now sat with his hood down as he worked on cleaning injuries and threading them close. Even Wong Kei-ying didn't have time to converse with him, despite being troubled over his presence in their village, as he asked Baak-tin to deliver him alcohol, needle, and thread, and pain medication as well.

Old Tang died hours later. It was a quiet affair when Baak-tin and 13th Aunt carried him to the morgue in the back, where the body could be cooled by the weather without being exposed to wind and snowfall, Baak-tin unable to find it in himself to say anything. When 13th Aunt stepped out, Baak-tin dallied behind to stare numbly at the two bodies covered in a white cloth from head to toe. One bigger, older, and the other not much older than him.

Neither Old Tang nor Idiot Mau were what he would call friends, not exactly, but they were born and raised in their village. Baak-tin and Fei-hung had just eaten at Old Tang's stand days ago. He and Idiot Mau had just exchanged insults in the morning before the festivities.

Baak-tin didn't know what to do. What could he do? Move on? But that didn't seem right either, when two people he saw everyday were there no longer.

"Baak-tin," 13th Aunt settled her hand on his shoulder. "Let's go…"

He nodded, saying nothing as he stepped out of the morgue and closed the door. The teenager watched his retreating form as he hurried back to the clinic's main room, her eyes pitying. Baak-tin hated it. He hated all of this. Why did this have to happen?

He furiously blinked his tears away, face settling back into one of neutrality as he found himself back in the room where the remaining patients lay. A few of them had fallen asleep already after eating some rice porridge Kei-ying had spared for them while others turned restlessly.

In the corridor leading into their home, he could hear quiet arguing. He lowered himself, careful to not make any sound as he pressed his ear to the closed sliding door.

Kei-ying. "You didn't have to kill all of them!"

The mysterious man. "It's my mission, not yours. You don't have to accept any of the blame for their deaths, only me."

"You know I disapprove of killing, Jiang Fen. And that I asked explicitly for you and the Brotherhood to not tread here."

"I couldn't let any of them live, shifu. You know anyone left alive would have escaped and sent word back to the British Templars; we can't afford to let any of Starrick's associates burn down the village. I realize I've caused a bit of trouble coming here, but I can just be on my way..."

A heavy sigh. "This is a time for family and friends. I can't just send you off on bad terms as is, at least stay for a few days to rest…"

There was hesitation as he paused before replying, "Alright… It's been awhile since I've had your cooking, anyways."

Whoever the mysterious man was, it seemed that he knew Kei-ying for many years and even learned from him. Baak-tin was about to step away to pretend to be checking the pulse of one of the patients, but Jiang Fen's voice interrupted him.

"Your family is waiting for you upstairs. You can come out now, little Wong."

Face flushing in embarrassment, the boy opened the sliding door to step into the corridor. He asked, quiet and sheepish at being caught in eavesdropping, "How did you know?"

"The oil lamp was still on behind you, so I could see your shadow," the man replied, amused. Jiang Fen had to be in his late twenties, his youth a stark contrast from Kei-ying, and he wore his hair in a traditional queue.

His face heated even more, realizing how simple his error had been. "Oh, I see…"

Jiang Fen chuckled. "You're young; you still have a lot to learn. If you want, I can teach you some tricks…"

Baak-tin wringed his hands, chewing his cheek in thought. His father didn't like him learning sneakier things, often quoting to him at night that his mother would have wanted him to walk in the light. He could vaguely remember her telling him so before he moved into the village all those years ago. He wanted to jump at the chance Jiang Fen offered him, but…

As if sensing Baak-tin's turmoil, Jiang Fen smiled at him before patting him on the shoulder. "I might just stay for the whole two weeks, so you have plenty of time to think about it. If you want to expand your knowledge beyond what your father teaches you, I don't mind if you chose to follow me."

With that, Jiang Fen made his way up the stairs to their quiet dinner, absent of the cheer that was supposed to come with the new year.

Baak-tin stood there for a little while longer. It was without a doubt his father would disapprove if he followed in Jiang Fen's footsteps. And his mother, even, from her grave.

He wasn't going to sleep well tonight, that was for certain. He sighed and made his way up the stairs to join his family and their guest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I guess being sick with COVID-19 and quarantining myself does wonders for my writing productivity... One or two more chapters and I'm looking forward to jumping back into the modern era to reintroduce some characters from the Desmond arc...
> 
> I also know that Po Chi Lam technically wasn't around until 1886, but for the sake of this fic, it will just move locations in 1886 since that's the year Wong Kei-ying passed away.
> 
> Writing Wong Fei-hung was pretty fun! I decided against following the same route most movies take, with making him ascetic and honorable type and went for him being the charismatic, chaotic good type. He didn't historically have 4 wives for no reason, after all...
> 
> Jiang Fen is also 100% an opportunistic dumbass with a shit-eating grin, don't believe anything Baak-tin thinks because he's still a heroic lad with a lot to teach in his eyes.


	5. Wong Baak-tin: 28 January 1868

_ January 28th, 1868. Lingxi Village, Foshan City, Guangdong. _

The sun was still early over the horizon when Baak-tin hurried out of the door before Fei-hung could say the first half of “You’re up early, Baak-tin.” The older of the two brothers stared at the door that Baak-tin had slammed on his way out, eyebrows raised to his hairline before he sighed and shook his head, returning to sipping the rest of his tea before he would check on the last of the patients who remained in their clinic. It was too early to deal with Baak-tin… 

The morning light cast long shadows in the village as Baak-tin broke into a run down the street. No one was open that day, as it was the fourth day of new year and everyone used the day until the rest of the week to rest until preparations for the Lantern Festival, so Baak-tin let himself free knowing there was no one to disturb.

He jumped the fence that encircled grazing livestock on the outskirts of the village, not bothering to take the long way around, and continued at a full sprint as startled livestock moved out of his way. With a trail of white feathers behind him as several geese honked angrily at his retreating form, Baak-tin escaped the farmer’s pen without further trouble (if he looked back, he would see a window light up where the farmer lived as the disgruntled man would look out the window to observe who was disturbing his livestock) and ran straight for the fields.

In the warmer seasons, the fields were usually lush and green, the grass often reaching one’s hips in height, but in the late winter, it looked like a sea of brown. Perhaps not the most photogenic of scenery, but it wasn’t something the Lingxi village was proud of. If there was anything their village was proud of, it was the river.

It wasn’t as vast or wide as the Yellow River that spanned across northern provinces like Henan, nor was it as advanced to allow the sheer amount of trade that went up and down the Yellow River. But, one thing Baak-tin loved about their river was that it ran clear unlike the muddy banks of the Yellow River, and the hills that surrounded it made for a good echo.

The boy cupped his hands around his mouth and screamed as loud as he could. He screamed and screamed, until the sound chased away a flock of birds from the next hill over, until his voice grew hoarse and he couldn’t scream anymore. His throat hurt, everything hurt. Baak-tin dropped to his knees, feeling hot tears spill over as he let the rest of his weight sink into the rocky sand, falling forward so his forehead could rest against the ground. He was only vaguely aware of the discomfort of the sharp rocks against his forehead and the sound of slow-moving water lapping less than half a meter from his form, trying to control his breathing through the tears that wouldn’t stop coming.

The past three days had passed in a dull blur, his awareness of everything had been as sharp as the view through a heavy fog. Everything felt numb, he couldn’t say anything even when his father probed him to ask about how he was taking everything, it all happened so fast, he had just been standing right there, helpless and useless and he couldn’t do anything—it hurt. Everything came crashing down in a tidal wave, and he couldn’t stop the ache that tore through his chest without mercy.

The sobs he didn’t even realize he was letting out slowed to a stop minutes later, his eyes running out of tears and his chest hiccuping with the loss of breath. He squeezed his eyes shut.  _ In. Out. In. Out. _ He focused closely on his breathing until it didn’t shake anymore and the pain in his chest faded to nothing more than the soreness after a rough fall, and he sat up again to hug his knees to his chest.

“Little Wong, want some water?”

The unexpected voice took him by surprise. The boy jumped to his feet with a yelp, but in his panicked scramble, his foot caught on a loose rock and he stumbled straight into the river, landing on his side in the water.

Jiang Fen stood from where he crouched, wincing at the position Baak-tin ended up in. It didn’t help that the air was still cold from the crisp winter morning air. The man was for once dressed more casually, sans a hood with his queue left long instead of wrapped around his neck, in favor of his assassin garments (Baak-tin still wasn’t exactly certain what “assassin” entailed except from the very vague, reluctant explanation Kei-yin had given him when he had asked the day before, and that they killed corrupt people) that were probably still bloodied… Not that Baak-tin could tell up close anyways, when he watched 13th Aunt wash them. They were black, afterall.

Jiang Fen offered his hand, which the boy took, and helped him out of the water. “Now, being wet in this weather won’t do… Your father will be asking questions if you come back like this. My camp is just past that hill; the fire should still be going so you can dry yourself off.”

Baak-tin silently nodded before he followed after the strange man. It didn’t take long for them to arrive at the camp, at most a couple minutes, but it raised more questions why Jiang Fen still kept the small tent and sleeping bag instead of staying in the village.

Jiang Fen ushered him to beside the campfire where it was still going, grabbing a spare blanket to drape over his shoulders. Baak-tin smiled weakly at him in thanks before he wrapped the blanket tightly around himself, letting the fire warm him without getting too close.

“You haven’t had breakfast yet, have you?”

The knowing look sent his way made him grimace. For someone who’s been told by other villagers and even his brother that he was unreadable, both Kei-ying and Jiang Fen seemed to read him like an open book. He shook his head in affirmation, and immediately a fluffy white mantou was extended to him. Baak-tin stared at Jiang Fen, questioning, before he accepted it and bit into the sweet bread.

It was gone in a few bites, and Baak-tin sighed in contentment as it filled his stomach. He hadn’t even noticed he was hungry.

“Jiang- _suk_?” he started before pausing, uncertain how to form his question.

“Yes?” Jiang Fen prodded for him to continue as the man tossed in some more dry grass to fuel the campfire. Baak-tin fiddled with the edges of the blanket for a moment before he spoke.

“Why do you still camp out here even though father invited you to stay?”

There was a pause as Jiang Fen smiled to himself. “I wasn’t expecting to stay long, but now that you point it out, I should probably take him up on the offer since it’s already the fourth day I’m here. Deneb is rather temperamental though, so I would be lucky to find a stableman willing to take her in until the end of new years.”

Baak-tin blinked at him. “Deneb?”

“My horse.” He jabbed a thumb toward the rust-colored horse behind him, who was chewing on a bit of hay. The horse sent a stink-eye their way before she continued to finish her breakfast. “She’s a proper warhorse, but not one easily controlled. I’ve had her for a few years.”

“Can I pet her? And why is her name Deneb?”

“...Maybe one day. She bites. And the man who sold her to me lied to me about selling me a stallion instead of a mare. She’s done more than I’ve asked of her, so at least it wasn’t a waste of money.”

Deneb huffed, flicking her ear in mild irritation as if she was affronted by Jiang Fen even remotely hinting at her being a waste of money.

Baak-tin nodded, listening intently. Jiang Fen had to be one talented man to be able to tame a horse like that to his will. “Can I ask you something?”

“Nothing much else to do, why not?” Jiang Fen leaned back, using his bag to prop himself up.

“What are the assassins, exactly?”

There was a beat before Jiang Fen sighed, resigning himself to answer. “Are you ready for that answer?”

“Jiang- _suk_ , please,” he pleaded, “I only know a little bit from what my father told me about my mother and about why you are here.”

“...” The assassin sighed again. “If your father has told you anything, the Brotherhood of Assassins isn’t just a group of hitmen.”

“So you guys are a sect! Kind of like the Shaolin temple or the Quanzhen Taoist sect, right?” He leaned forward where he sat, unable to keep his effervescent excitement from bubbling. Jiang Fen’s lips twitched upwards, but instead it seemed more sardonic than anything.

“In a way, though I wouldn’t say we travel the same path of light that they do.”

He tilted his head, puzzled. “But I saw you kill those men. They fired at us first and they wanted our land…”

“Reacting to violence with violence isn’t always the right path.”

“Even if more people are hurt if you don’t react to violence with violence?” he challenged. Jiang Fen paused, raising an eyebrow at Baak-tin before he nodded in approval and looked away, off into the distance. Even when Baak-tin tried to track his gaze, he couldn’t find what he was staring at.

“That’s the dilemma many will face at some point in their lives. To religious sects like those you mentioned, killing is one of the worst crimes one can commit, even if it is to fight back and defend.” Jiang Fen snapped his gaze back to Baak-tin, startling the boy. “Our Brotherhood has a creed, one that has gone through many iterations for thousands of years since its inception.” The man reached to grab a twig, a small branch that had been broken many times over, from near them before he leaned close to the campfire, drawing in the mix of dirt and ashes that surrounded it.

A couple terrible-looking stick figures were drawn into the dirt, wearing what looked like… Hoods? Or were they helmets? And was that dog-looking thing supposed to be a human? Baak-tin couldn’t tell; he’ll just follow along by what Jiang Fen said rather than what he tried drawing.

“The first tenet is to never kill or harm an innocent. We operate by removing corrupt figures from power, to protect innocents. If we harm innocent civilians in our work, that renders our efforts useless.”

He drew some sort of shroud that covered the stick figures, looking a bit like a dome.

“Then, stay in the shadows. Sun Tzu once said to ‘know thy enemy but know thyself,’ and this is important here. If we operate in the light for all to see, we have shown our enemy every weapon and strategy we have. We won’t be able to complete our missions to defend the innocent if we allow openings for the enemy to strategize and strike.”

He then drew many more tiny stick figures, and what looked like lightning striking them down.

“Never compromise the Brotherhood. When you are initiated into our Brotherhood, we become your family. Just a few missteps to allow the enemy to find a path to our greatest weaknesses and to fire arrows of flame into the heart of the Brotherhood would destroy much of what it had built, and what it could build. The Brotherhood works close together because we cannot work in the light, and it is akin to General Chou Chou chaining his ships together. Give the enemy an opportunity, and he will strike like Hung Ming to burn us all.”

Baak-tin has heard the story before, from the books his father had him read about the Three Kingdoms War from several dynasties ago. He nodded, solemn, as he let Jiang Fen’s words sink in. “It sounds like you have many enemies.”

He laughed. “That, we do. Our biggest one yet is the greed of mankind.”

“Not the Templars?”

He shook his head. “The Templar Order may have many corrupted individuals that seek to satiate their greed, but the Order itself? If you ask me, no. But if you ask others, they are.”

“...It doesn’t seem like you’re very well-coordinated if you can’t decide who the enemies are…” Baak-tin pointed out.

“I don’t like dealing in absolution.” He waved the boy’s concerns away before he stood, stretching. “Are you dry yet?”

Baak-tin patted his side, checking before he nodded. What was Jiang Fen planning now?

“What if I taught you something? Basically a free sample before you decide if you want to join us.”

He protested, “I didn’t say that I was interested…”

“Ah, but you asked, did you not?” When Baak-tin couldn’t refute his statement, he smirked at him. “I trust that Wong Kei-ying has done well in teaching you how to fight and defend yourself, if going by how far ahead your brother has climbed. How is your core strength?”

Baak-tin stood, setting down the blanket in a hurry when Jiang Fen turned and already made to leave the camp. He had to jog to catch up with the much taller man. What was he, 5’10”? Perhaps not a giant by Western standards, but it was nothing to scoff at. “W-well, I think it’s okay? I’m able to maintain my balance when doing all of the horse stances even during lessons where Fei-hung tried knocking me down…”

“That’s good!” he praised, his quick pace turning into a jog, not quite a run but he seemed to be testing Baak-tin’s stamina, as the boy had yet to tell where he was taking him. “But, to be a proper teacher, I have to see for myself…”

“You’re not my  _ shifu _ yet,” the boy pointed out, his tone slightly snide. Jiang Fen snorted.

“Maybe not, but you’d be surprised to find that true masters ever go through one life with only one teacher.”

“Hm.” Baak-tin, as young as he was, wasn’t one to ignore wisdom where it was given. Still, he would need to take some time to fully mull over every one of Jiang Fen’s words. To match Jiang Fen’s pace with his shorter legs, he had to push his legs into a faster jog to stay within a meter of him as they continued through the hills.

The boy found himself out of breath, just barely, when the camp disappeared ways behind them, and they had passed the village by going around it. On the other side of the village that wasn’t facing the river, a dirt road wound itself near the village entrance, a simple wooden gate without any walls to seal it away but with only the village’s name engraved and painted on the sign that hung from it, before it disappeared back into the forest from whence it came at least fifty meters away.

Where Jiang Fen took him, however, was not to the forest but rather the watchtower on its outskirts, where its five-story tall height made for an excellent bird’s eye view for village guards to track movements on the dirt road. Baak-tin had only climbed it once, when Idiot Mau had dared him to a year ago in the middle of summer where the trees weren’t bare like today and instead had luscious green leaves to adorn them. Their forest was no bamboo forest like the ones found further north and near the mountains, but when the boy had looked down from the height on the wooden platform, it had taken his breath away to see the dirt road wind through the forest, disappearing into the taller hills on the horizon, with travelling merchants looking smaller than ants with their carts.

Of course, Fei-hung had spotted him that time and got him down after a bout of panic—and rightfully so, because Kei-ying caught them less than five minutes later and made them both kneel at the ancestors’ altar in their home with their dinner on their heads, unable to eat before their punishments were up. As usual, Fei-hung always had the longer punishment whenever it involved Baak-tin, given he was the elder brother who was supposed to be a role model and watch his sibling.

And so, Baak-tin couldn’t keep his eyes from bugging out and his jaw going slack when Jiang Fen said, as casually as if he were discussing what to eat for dinner, “I want you to climb this watchtower.”

“What?” he sputtered. “But father doesn’t let me…”

“I’ll take the blame; besides, this isn’t my first time teaching. Go ahead and climb it.”

The boy shuffled where he stood, uncertain. Well, Jiang Fen does seem rather confident and he did witness how well he carried himself in battle… It didn’t hurt to try, did it? Baak-tin made his way toward the ladder, but Jiang Fen stopped him.

“In any novice assassin’s first lesson, stealth is key. If stealth isn’t available, then make use of the unexpected. Many people already use the ladder, and sometimes where you need to go doesn’t have a ladder readily available for you,” Jiang Fen said, turning the boy toward the wall of the tower. For a simple village watchtower constructed with limited funds, the structure was four-sided and made of thick, round planks of hefty wood nailed together. From a closer glance, Baak-tin could tell it hadn’t been renovated with new wood yet, as quite a bit of its surface had been worn down and there were scratches embedded into it, so his hold on it wouldn’t slip if he tried… Still, the task was a daunting one, as he wasn’t sure if he would be able to climb it when the supports were spaced so far apart.

Baak-tin was taking a minute too long staring at the watchtower, it seemed, and Jiang Fen just clapped his shoulder. “Maybe you’ll feel a little better with a demonstration.”

Before he could reply and shake his head that he’ll really do it this time, the man already took a few steps back before running toward the tower, and with a jump, he was already climbing. Baak-tin could only stare, shocked into a stupor as Jiang Fen was already one, two, three stories up. And less than a minute later, he was staring down at him from the top with a grin, waving for him to follow.

“Come on, you can do it!”

He let out a breath. Jiang Fen said this was to test his core strength, right? That meant he would need to rely on a bit of his own power in order to make it through footholds that seemed too far from each other. And so, he backed away, until he was a couple meters away. Then he ran.

Feeling the rush of adrenaline, Baak-tin used the momentum from it to power himself forward and upwards, bracing his foot against the different ledges to jump upwards when the next one was too far for him to grasp. And quickly, he was at Jiang Fen’s side, breathless as his muscles faintly burned with exertion.

Even the winter view of the village, the forest, the dirt road was amazing from this far above. Baak-tin couldn’t stop the laugh that bubbled from his throat, surprised with himself.

“It’s a great perspective, isn’t it?” Jiang Fen knelt down at the edge of the platform, looking for something below. “This brings us into our next lesson.”

The boy, after turning his focus away from the scenery, looked to the man with question in his eyes.

“When you’re on missions like I am-”

Baak-tin opened his mouth to object that he hadn't agreed to join him yet.

“Yes, yes,  _ if _ you’re ever on missions,” he corrected before Baak-tin could interject. “This trick will prove more useful than climbing back down or using a ladder to slide down. It’s called a leap of faith.”

Oh, he really hoped that was a figure of speech.

“It’s fast, and no one would expect any sane person to jump from a building to escape. I don’t recommend it if you’re too high up, but this should be an okay height…” For someone who was talking about something suicidal, Jiang Fen sounded awfully calm about it in spite of Baak-tin visibly blanching.

“I- Is that really safe, Jiang- _suk_?” His voice had raised in pitch in the second half of his question, betraying his horror. The man  _ chuckled _ . Was he even serious right now?

“It takes technique. A hefty pile of hay will be enough to cushion your fall, and a body of water will work to lower any damage so long as you orient yourself correctly to land where you don’t break anything.” Jiang Fen elaborated before he straightened and took a tiny step forward so his toes were off the edge of the platform. “Raise your arms like this, and let yourself go-!”

His voice trailed off with distance as he let himself fall forward, and straight through the air. With wide eyes and a shocked cry, Baak-tin hurried over to peer over the edge, only to see a hand wave at him from the cart of hay ways below.

Well, there was that for his answer. Baak-tin held his breath, his gut rolling with nervousness at the prospect of falling from that height. He just needed to orient himself mid-fall… Obviously, if he tried to land with his feet or head pointed downwards, he would break his legs or crack his head open respectively, regardless of the haystack absorbing the force. That meant he would need to land on his back eagle-spread to avoid any point of his body absorbing too much impact. If he did so with a body of water, it would be a different story, since the point of contact would need a smaller surface area to break the surface tension more quickly and lessen the damage compared to if he did the eagle-spread position he envisioned…

“We don’t have all day!”

Baak-tin shook his head, clearing his mind. If he thought too much, he would be standing there for another hour. And so, he stepped forward, glancing down as his breath hitched at seeing the haystack so far yet so close below. He closed his eyes, focusing on calming his breathing, and spread his arms.

And he leaped.

* * *

He knew very well Kei-ying would have his head if he discovered that Baak-tin was learning more from Jiang Fen than just storytelling about the assassin’s traipses through all of China and neighboring nations. And so, Baak-tin became very careful around his father’s suspicious glances and made himself scarce when the family wasn’t required to gather or when he wasn’t needed to help Kei-ying or Fei-hung with treating patients.

Still, it was difficult to avoid Kei-ying’s piercing gaze, so Baak-tin found himself attached to Fei-hung’s leg early in the morning to, well, bargain. In Fei-hung’s eyes, however, his brother was being very annoying for not letting him get dressed.

“Baak-tin, please,” he begged, trying to pry his hands from where they gripped his pants without ripping the fabric. Baak-tin was not weak at all, so Fei-hung gave up after his third try, really not wanting to waste another hour repairing a perfectly good pair of pants. “It’s way too early for this whatever you call it. Just let me clean up and get dressed…”

“I know you’re going to try to sneak and take 13th Aunt on a date,” he said in the most non-threatening tone he could muster as he probed about Fei-hung’s crush. While they still had to refer to Yang Qingfong as their aunt, she was the littlest sister of Fei-hung’s late mother’s neighbor’s neighbor’s neighbor from Dongzhou Village, a nice place by the coast and several miles away. Fei-hung immediately stiffened at the mention of her, slowly turning his head toward Baak-tin.

He replied, wary, “Don’t you dare tell  _ A De _ …”

“Or he’ll skin you alive, right?” Baak-tin clarified, a bit smug but it didn’t show beyond his neutral expression. Honestly, it creeped the hell out of Fei-hung, knowing his brother can hold such a face when talking about him getting grounded for weeks, with the entire village knowing about his mistakes and his disciples laughing behind his back. And he wasn’t even planning on getting drunk, unlike last time that led to their father making him kneel outside for a whole three days.

Fei-hung hung his head, wiping at his face stressfully. He said, unable to help the sarcasm, “ _ Da lao _ , you drive a hard bargain… Fine, what is it that you want, sweet little brother of mine?” 1

“Jiang- _suk_ has another lesson for me, and I’m probably going to be gone until dinner. Please distract  _ A De _ for me?” Baak-tin still didn’t let go. He didn’t want to chance Fei-hung running out to tell on him, not putting the treachery past him.

Fei-hung cast him a dirty look. “Oi, I’m not going to let you go running off learning crazy stuff from him…”

“Please,  _ da ge _ ! He has a lot to teach and you saw how cool he looked using all those weapons!” he pleaded. A pause, and he added, “And I’ll tell  _ A De _ about 13th Aunt.”

“Fine, fine!” Fei-hung groaned, throwing his hands up in surrender. “ _ A De _ is busy this morning and early afternoon, so you don’t have to worry about that… And when he’s done grinding the medicine, I’ll think of something. He won’t come after you, I promise.”

Baak-tin finally let go. “Thank you,  _ da ge _ !”

Several agitated ticks made its way onto Fei-hung’s face. “At least look a little more grateful,  _ Tin-Tin _ .” He emphasized the baby nickname for his brother, Baak-tin immediately recoiling with a “hey, don’t call me that!” Fei-hung sighed, reaching to ruffle the boy’s hair, messing it up from the queue he meticulously put together yet again. Ignoring his protest, he said, more seriously, “Baak-tin, you’ve been spending almost every day of new years with Jiang- _suk_ , and it’s already the tenth day… Our father won't like it when he learns you have been learning from Jiang- _suk_ instead of him, and he might postpone your learning for a month or so because you've been impatient."

"I'm not impatient…"

"And yet you couldn't wait until after the Lantern Festival for A De to teach you…" Baak-tin paused at Fei-hung's drawl, knowing he couldn't argue himself out of this one. Fei-hung, however, chose to catch him off guard in the next moment. "The martial arts Jiang- _suk_ practices may help you, but not very much if you don't learn everything about it. And I don't think you will by the time he leaves."

Baak-tin's eyebrows raised slightly at that. " _ Da ge _ , are you saying that I should follow him?"

"If he offers to be your _shifu_ , yes."

Well, then. The boy stared off into space, intense thoughts boiling behind his eyes, and Fei-hung straightened to grab a fresh pair of clothes from his dresser before patting him on the back. "Best come to a decision before Jiang- _suk_ leaves after the Lantern Festival."

Fei-hung had already long gone to clean up in the washroom when Baak-tin finally went to start his day. There was no use trying to puzzle over what decision to make when he had things to learn (he actually did continue to puzzle over this in the back of his mind for a long while), and so he tip-toed down the stairs, carrying his shoes so his socks may muffle his footsteps. With a careful look into the parted door leading into the kitchen, where he could spot his father seated at the table with linen sleeves rolled to his elbows as he worked with the mortar and bowl, he waited for a moment to be certain Kei-ying wouldn’t look his way. Without hesitation, he darted past and hurried out the front door, where luckily there weren’t any patients for him to disturb.

The sun rose further in the sky, reaching midday. Then, it began to sink toward the horizon.

It wasn’t until the sky began to wash in orange that Baak-tin returned home, faintly sore from his first day running across the rooftops. His return has been as quiet as his exit, and Kei-ying was indeed distracted from interrogating him the second he came home, just as Fei-hung has promised.

“Fei-hung, you should know the consequences of drinking ever since the last time you hospitalized that merchant! And starting a fight at that restaurant? I’m disappointed in you…” Kei-ying was pacing in front of the family altar, where Fei-hung sat kneeling on the wooden floor, holding his uneaten bowl of rice atop his head. It probably had been thirty minutes since their father had begun this lecture.

When Kei-ying wasn’t looking directly at him, Fei-hung met Baak-tin’s sheepish but pitying eyes. He mouthed, “ _ You better appreciate this. _ ”

* * *

And Baak-tin did appreciate his brother, six days later. His family had already bid Jiang Fen farewell in the early morning, but Baak-tin only stayed for less than five minutes during it, rushing back upstairs and getting raised eyebrows in return, not caring for any suspicions. If he timed this right, Kei-ying wouldn’t even have time to pull him aside and ask what had his nerves in overdrive.

Baak-tin peeked through his open window to see his father walk Jiang Fen to the village gates, exchanging last words before what would likely be another ten or so years until they met again, before he hurried back to kneel beside his bed. The boy pulled out a black bag, filled with a few sets of clothes, and ran to his dresser to stuff it with a couple books in such hurry, anyone would think the house had been on fire.

He paused, just as he finished putting what he needed into the bag, realizing he hadn’t been very careful to avoid damaging the. He took one book out, smoothing out the yellowed pages as he briefly skimmed through the first few pages, filled with old writing.

“ _ Niangqin _ …” Baak-tin murmured to himself, feeling faint guilt. The note she had left for him hadn’t been very detailed, but it wasn’t until Jiang Fen came that he understood its gravity. It didn’t seem like she wanted him to choose either side, be it the Templars or the Brotherhood, but…

_ “The path in the light”, huh. _ Baak-tin hoped what he was about to do was his right path, to his mother’s standards.

Kei-ying had just arrived back from seeing Jiang Fen off when Baak-tin ran down the stairs, very nearly knocking down Fei-hung in the process, and bowed once to the family altar. “I’m sorry,  _ leung-chun _ !”

“Baak-tin, what are you doing-?”

“I’m sorry,  _ A De _ !” He bowed to Kei-ying as well. As his father sputtered and Fei-hung let out a long sigh from behind him, Baak-tin ran out the door and took off down the street at a full sprint. Ignoring his father shouting behind him, he focused on his goal as the air whooshed past his ears.

Jiang Fen had just mounted Deneb when he heard Baak-tin call out, “Wait for me, Jiang- _suk_!”

The assassin turned his head, surprised for a second before he grinned. Once the boy drew near, he extended his hand which he took, hoisting him up behind him.

Kei-ying just barely reached the village gates to catch up when Jiang Fen waved at him with one last farewell before urging Deneb forward at a gallop. “See you later, _shifu_! I’ll bring him back in six months, don’t you worry about it!”

  
“ _ Baak-tin! Jiang Fen, you are too shameless-! _ ”

* * *

_ 1 - "Da Lao" is a term referring to a Triad "big brother" _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter will return to modern time and Layla shenanigans! Baak-tin's backstory is almost finished here, and we'll be seeing young Celio soonish.
> 
> I hope you enjoyed, and see you next time!


End file.
